It's Just Sext (The Right Kind of Wrong) (3 page)

She wanted to be filled up
, body and soul. He was pounding hard and, instinctively, she ground back against his thrusts, but a moment later something fearful, and inexplicable overtook her—she gave too much and wanted it all back. She yanked her body free of his, scrambling across the carpet to get away.

She
made it a few feet before he pounced, pushing her shoulders to the floor, immobilizing her, forcing her back into a deep curve, her ass high and wide. He shoved a finger into her asshole with a grunt, and the air was filled with her heavy, rasping breath and his low, honeyed snarl. After a long pause, he filled her pussy with his cock again, a deep, body-claiming descent that forced her to give up running, give in to whatever the fuck this was between them. She relinquished control, stopped thrashing and let him take them both where they needed to go. She was pinned, one hand shoved between her shoulder blades, like prey that would be devoured and never, ever, get away again. Her legs had long since turned to jelly. Her pussy was throbbing, swollen and ready to gush, and when she finally came, light moving behind her eyelids, her chest exploded with something she could only describe as…gratitude. It melted her every limb, made her eyelashes damp with tears.

He
came in a series of shudders and curses, bearing his weight over her until she was pressed flat beneath him. When his breathing returned to something near normal he kissed the spot on her back she imagined now had a blooming pink imprint of his left hand and rolled off her. She stretched, rubbing the insides of her thighs together, slick with cum, reveling in it. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheek. She was caught in his eyes and could not look away. There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t want to be with him, or he with her, but those stunning green eyes were taking her apart from the inside out, chasing each objection away with a baseball bat. Or something shaped like one, anyway.

She could take this thing between them and try crossing it over into the real world, maybe take it further—as long as she stopped
struggling to get away. She didn’t need to be afraid of trying, did she?

“
I don’t know what happened,” she began, venturing into uncharted waters.

“
I do,” he replied.

“You do?”

“It’s primal, love. You need me to chase you down. Not give you any choice in the matter.” He was up on one elbow, took her hand and kissed it, then lay back, nestled between the bed and the wall, their shoulders touching.

The
pattern of his response was familiar to her—his text messages were brief and sweet, until he had something important to say, then his true nature, or what she assumed it to be, would come through. He’d send a longer message, something insightful, witty, loving, and her heart would melt a little more for him. She had been talking herself out of running ever since they had come up with this plan to finally meet at a hotel, in person, before he next set sail. She hadn’t told him, of course, but she had imagined countless exit strategies. She guessed she hadn’t been hiding her apprehension very well.

“I’m sorry
,” she said.

“For what?”

“Making you be the…I don’t know…responsible party.”

He laughed and repositioned himself to snuggle
her close. “One of the best things about a man’s job, babe. I have no problem letting you know where you belong.” He ground his hips toward hers.

Did he
really think she belonged with him? Fear clutched at her heart again, but she was too muddle-headed to sort out whether it was the fear of being with him or without him. She clamped her lips, not ready to speak the words.

“
Yes, babe. This
is
where you belong. Sex is a different kind of priority for us. It’s more than a craving, it’s like food or water. Can’t thrive without it. It’s not the only thing we have going, but it’s an everyday need for you and me.”

She
stared, her heart fluttering around in her chest. He was so much younger than she was, but he was a man—no doubt about it. She needed to act out the running away so he could chase her down and take the decision away—force upon her what she was afraid to accept herself. There was more here than anyone would understand, and they were going to go for it anyway.

“B
ut we’re not together every day,” she said, slowly.

“Sex is more than fucking
for people like us, babe. It’s like eating—even when you’re not doing it, you think about it, you can taste it, you have cravings you know won’t be satisfied until your next meal.”

People like us.
He was right. Even their digital imprint was infused with deep-seated sensuality, and so they had recognized each other across time and space. “All the shit we do long distance, texting and the videos I make just for you? We’ve been having sex for months,” he concluded.

“Sex, yes…but what else…is this?”

He turned quiet for a few long moments and she began to squirm inside. “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “Do you?”

“No.”

Do you love me?
She would not let the question pass her lips. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

S
ailors were known to have a girl in every port and before she got too far ahead of herself Lauren was reminded of it. A text came through on his phone. He reached over, read it, then put it away without explanation. She was on the other side now. All of those months of wondering who was beside him on the couch or in the car, or wherever he got her messages…it didn’t seem to matter back then, since she never thought they would actually meet. But, if she wanted this to be anything more than great sex, she couldn’t ignore her instincts.

“Who was that
?”

He
turned his phone back on to show her. “My sister. She wants to know if we’re getting along.”

“That’s not what it says!”
She gave him a shove and grabbed the phone.

Fuck that. Is she as
hot in person?

“Oh, shit!”
He laughed, taking it back. “That’s my brother-in-law. Didn’t see that one.” He scrolled up to show her the previous text from his sister. “Here.”

Are you two getting along?
I need details!

“See?”

He had told her that his sister was his best friend. He shared everything with her and stayed at her place when he wasn’t at sea, helping out with his twin nieces and nephew. Another piece of his imaginary, solely-texted world materialized into something real before her eyes. He was a man with a family who loved him. Until this very moment she hadn’t known for sure whether the ‘sister’ he always wrote about was in reality a wife or girlfriend.

She
suddenly realized she had not yet heard him say her name.
Babe, love, honey
…he showered her with these generic terms, ones which could be used on any girl, in any port.

“
Lauren,” he said gently, as if reading her mind. She looked up and watched the expressions play across his face, moving from contentment to concern. Hearing her name on his lips spread warmth deep inside her.

“That’s the first time you’ve sa
id my name.” Her voice cracked.

“I’ve typed it a thousand times,” he
smiled.

“I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

“You’re such a girl.”

“What did you expect
?!”

He
tumbled her into a bear hug.

“Exactly this,
Lauren. You and me, rolling around, lusting after each other. Loving each other.” He pulled back and looked at her quizzically. “Why? What did
you
expect?”

“Not this. Well, all of this,” she said, gesturing across the room at their rumpled sheets, abandoned clothing and dropped towels. “But not…this.”
She placed her hand over his heart and he sighed deeply. He covered it with his own.

“And is
this
something you want?” he asked.

She
nodded, but shrugged, and his face fell. Her mind was a jumble of objections, from family, friends and a culture that had no problem seeing an older man with a younger woman, but would not so readily accept her and Marc.

“What?”
he asked.

“If we love each other, no one will care. They’d be happy for us.”

“Oh…
If
?”

“Marc, I never lied to you.”

“But you don’t love me?”

She
felt the situation slipping away from her. She did love him. Or something like love.

“I have love in my heart for you. Every time
I said it—or texted it—I meant it. But we’re just getting to know each other for real. I love the man I met through words alone, but it’s not enough, is it?”

“It is for me.”

“It can’t be.”

“
Lauren, you can’t tell me what’s in my heart any more than I can tell you.” And yet, he was still talking around those three little words. He had not said them himself. “But I need to know if you’re saying you don’t love me anymore.”

He sounded his age now, like a
twenty-something guy who experienced love on a whim. But wasn’t his eagerness one of the things she adored? He was unaffected by time, enthusiastic about love in a way most men her age had lost. She let out a nervous little laugh and his brow furrowed. She took his face in her hands, kissed him on the lips, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

“
We just have to spend time, I don’t know, matching things up.”

“
Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be back. Every ten days for the next six months.”

She
arched her brows, her face brightening. They could see what’s real with that much time together.

“
Really? Wait—why didn’t you tell me before?” She gasped as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and reached for a pillow to chuck at him.

“Stop!” he laughed. “Can you blame me? If we didn’t like each other it would
have been better for you to think my boat wasn’t coming back into port for months.”

“
Marc,” she said, laughing, feeling more and more…safe. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me over the phone? I need to know.” It was one of the last barriers for her. His answer could build or break her trust.

“Like I always said, I get nervous.”

“That can’t be true.” She had suspected he was married, or living with someone, but he had always denied it.

“Okay, fine. It’s not.” He
took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back for a few long moments, considering his words, she hoped. “Look, it was my way of protecting myself. I could give you everything but I had to hold something back, right? A piece of me you couldn’t take with you if this didn’t work out.” He shrugged.

It was true.
Through texting he had shown her every inch of his body, told her he loved her and shared his life story. Without realizing it, she had appreciated the no-talking rule he had enforced. Many times, after sharing something personal about herself, she ended up with that feeling of wanting to run, relieved she could hide behind her texts until she was ready to reconnect again.

“Marc?”

“Mmm-hm?”

“Am I the only one?”
Her heart was already aching for him. She didn’t think she could bear it if there was another woman in his life.

“You’re my only girl.
My only…love. Sorry, I don’t care if you’re not ready to say it. It’s how I feel. I had one big barrier and you crushed it. I’m sorry for it now, but you’re stuck with me anyway.”

Snuggled against
him, she turned to kiss his chest and lay her cheek against his heart.

Time to figure out
who you really love
. Kate’s words filtered in, and Lauren didn’t run from them this time. She didn’t want to be judged for who she loved. There was little enough genuine affection in the world. She did not regret her feelings for Marc one bit—even if she still needed time to see what was real and how deep it could go. It was real enough for now.

And
as far as loving herself? For months they messaged each other, sharing only the parts they wanted each other to see. Somewhere along the way, Lauren bought into her own perfect story and started to see herself as Marc did, confident, sexy and lovable. Her flaws faded in importance, no longer a focus or a crutch in her real life. Like some magical elixir, their limited communication had made her fall in love with herself, and him too, and wasn’t that just perfect?

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